Half the Universe (but My Whole World)
by Mellpen00
Summary: Alternate Universe. In the aftermath of the Snap, Steve discovers that he has lost more than friends. This follows a similar AU to that of my "Steve&Peggy's 20 Questions", only this one actually lets bad things happen. Steggy angst and emotional hurt/comfort, with an emphasis on platonic Romanogers. No slash, smut, or swears. Rating for mentions of drug and alcohol abuse. COMPLETE.
1. Wakanda, 2018

**A/N: **So I told you that it would be a while before I had anything else Steve&Peggy... but I guess I lied. Oh well! :) That being said, this is actually in a different AU than my other Steve&Peggy piece. While the beginning of the AU is the same (Peggy being found in cryofreeze after _The Avengers_), this one follows the MCU much more closely, and therefore Horrible Things still happen. Horrible Things like Infinity War and the Snap... But hey! I'm a sucker for angst, so I guess it didn't turn out so bad for me. :]

In this AU Steve and Peggy get married just after Civil War, and Peggy is a little more than eight months pregnant when Infinity War happens. I don't know why my mind came up with this (I was honestly a little concerned for myself), but here it is. Please let me know what you think!

Thanks!

-Mellpen00

(P.S. Before you get to the end and threaten to lynch me, let me say that there is a second part! It's already written, but just needs some polishing, so you can expect it some time next week. :)

* * *

**Half the Universe (but My Whole World) **

Steve couldn't form any words, and the only thought that entered his mind was: _we failed_. Over and over, like a broken record: _we failed. We lost. We weren't enough. I wasn't enough. We failed. _Eventually, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Natasha, bruised and broken as he was, looking at him with the same thought written on her face. He could see a question in her eyes, and as he turned slowly to look at the others around him, he saw it in their eyes as well.

_What do we do?_

Steve couldn't even begin to answer that question in the long run, but he knew instinctively that, for those left behind, life had to continue, just like it did after every other battle. Natasha, Rhodey, Thor – they had all been in battles, in war, and they all knew the truth like he did. They all knew that you had to shut out the eventual so that you could handle the immediate. But not one of them looked like they had any intention of following through with that truth. They were broken – completely and utterly broken – and they needed somebody to pick up the pieces.

Steve buried his head in his hands, rebelling against the injustice of it. He was broken too! He was in just as much pain as they were! But he was also the commander. Commanders didn't get to be broken. They didn't get people to put them back together. They had to simply gather up all their pieces and hope for the best as they went about repairing everyone else.

_It's not fair! _he thought, and it never was. He let his shoulders slump and his head hang, allowing himself just this one moment of brokenness before he had to lead again. Uncertainty and despair warred inside him, coiling like snakes in the pit of his stomach. But then, with ease of long practice, Steve Rogers closed himself in, and Captain America lifted his head.

He was almost disgusted by how easy it was, to bottle up his humanity and pull on the mask. But there was a job to be done, and Steve wouldn't have been able to handle it. Bracing his ribs with one arm and ignoring Natasha's proffered hand, Cap got to his feet and began to give orders.

-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-

As after every battle, there were bodies to remove from the field: friends and enemies fallen side by side. Even worse than the faces that were recognized, however, were the ones that were missing; the nameless, anonymous piles of dust that littered the bloodstained grass: a testament to their failure, as surreal as it was undeniable.

Time after time Steve had to shut himself down, make his mind go blank, just so he could take care of the task at hand. He saw grown men and women, hardened warriors one and all, kneeling on the turf and wailing like lost children. He saw others gazing over the battlefield with vacant eyes, or wandering around aimlessly.

Finally, it was dark. All the dead and wounded had been taken into the city, and the living were now arriving there as well. The medical staff threw themselves into their tasks, having too few people to do the work, but glad to be overwhelmed because it took their minds from why their numbers were reduced. For once there were enough beds for every injured person, but no one had ever been so horrified to see an empty hospital. Cap's last duty was leaving Natasha with the nurses, and then he turned and walked out of the medical wing, having forgotten about his own injuries. He stepped out into the empty hallway and stopped. Steve Rogers awoke, as if from a trance.

_Where am I?_ Wakanda. That was right.

_What just happened? _Oh yes, he had failed. Again.

_Where is everybody? _Bruce, Thor, Rhodey, and Natasha: living, in the med bay. Tony, Clint, and Pepper: unknown. T'Challa, Vision, Wanda, Sam, Bucky:

_Dead. _

Steve sucked in a breath, not having time to process the information as another terrifying thought intruded on him.

Peggy.

He staggered back a step.

The baby!

_Oh, God, please!_

He turned around and barreled back into the med bay, searching for the first person who looked like they would know something. He seized a nurse by the arm as she passed. He must have grabbed her harder than he meant to, because she cried out and dropped her chart, and he had just enough presence of mind to loosen his grip.

"Have you seen my wife?" he asked, eyes burning with intensity. The nurse looked frightened, but merely shook her head, so he released her and moved on to the next person. He scoured the room, asking everyone he saw, but learning nothing. More than once he would repeat his question to a man and receive a look that asked: "have you seen mine?"

Around and around he went, refusing to acknowledge the dread growing in his chest. Finally, a doctor whom he recognized – though whose name he couldn't remember – took the time and actually spoke to him.

"You are Captain Rogers of SHIELD, yes?"

Steve nodded.

"And your wife is the English woman, also of SHIELD?"

A spark of hope flared in Steve's chest. "Ye- yes!" he choked out. "Have you seen her?"

The man's expression was unreadable. "Come," he said, turning in a different direction, "This way."

They passed into an unfamiliar part of the medical wing, the doctor-without-a-name striding purposefully down the hall and Steve following anxiously behind him. There were so many questions swirling in Steve's head, but he didn't dare ask any of them.

Finally, the doctor stopped outside what looked like a private room and turned to face the captain head-on. Though his manner was firm, his eyes were soft.

"Captain Rogers," he began wearily, "too many times today have I given this news. I stopped trying to soften the blow many hours ago, so I will not do it now. Your wife is dead."

All the hope that had been bubbling up inside of Steve vanished, choked out by those four words. He made no answer, only stood there, dumbstruck, as the doctor stared at the floor.

Peggy was gone. He had really and truly failed then. Bucky, Sam, T'Challa, Shuri, Wanda – _Peggy._ What else was there?

Moments passed, and his chest constricted. He took a small shuddering breath, and the doctor continued,

"I am truly sorry for your loss, and believe me, I know something of it as well, but your situation is not as bleak as some others'." There was the briefest of pauses, and the man met Steve's eyes. "The child survived."

The child… Peggy's child. _His _child!

Images flashed briefly in his mind of Peggy in every stage as her belly grew and the promise of the baby drew nearer. And now it was here; delivered early in the midst of it's mother's ashes. It was too much. Too much for him to think about and to process. His mind went numb for a moment as the doctor opened the door to the room and guided him in. His eyes landed on a nurse in the corner, sitting in a pristine white uniform by a delicate white crib. He heard the click of the door behind him, closing as the doctor retreated back into the hall, and his mind woke up.

He didn't dare look into the tiny bed, so he locked eyes with the nurse. She returned his stare without expression, but it was no use. His gaze was drawn to the crib with the inevitability of gravity. At first he saw nothing, just a wad of soft blankets in between the bars. Then something moved, and she couldn't be unseen.

He saw the baby, and his body was paralyzed again. She was so small, so defenseless. He already had so many people depending on him – he had already let so many people down – he was cracking under the weight. How could he take even one more?

The nurse moved forward and took the child in her arms, bringing it toward Steve. She began to offer the baby to him, and he started back, putting up his hands in protest.

"No, I can't!" he wanted to shout, to scream, but it came out in a hoarse whisper, terrified and small. The nurse paused and bored her eyes into him, giving him no other option.

"You must."

Unable to disobey, Steve allowed the little bundle to be placed in his arms, and just like that, the world melted away.

She was his opposite in every possible way. All of her tiny person could have fit completely in his massive paws, her pearly skin looking like rose-petals next to his dark and dirty hands. She was soft, he was hardened. She was clean, he was covered in the stench of battle. Her white blanket was set against his black uniform, and all he could see was the innocence that he had fought so hard for, and failed so miserably to protect.

One of the baby's tiny fists rested next to her cheek, and Steve lifted a finger to stroke it. It was impossibly soft. She shifted in her sleep and yawned, opening her hand as she did and curling it around the thing that had roused her. Somehow, it was this simple gesture that broke through to him. The despair that had been roiling in the pit of his stomach rose up his throat and burst out of him in a silent, agonized sob. Tears began to mist in his eyes as he held his daughter closer to him, not caring that the grime of his uniform rubbed off on her clean blanket, only needing her to be near. Needing to know that she was there, even if her mother wasn't. Even if half the universe wasn't.

He sank down in the chair by the crib and curled around his child, forming his body into a shield to protect her: the only thing that he had left. He had lost so much. So many things had been taken from him. His chest began to heave and his breath began to come in gasps. The mist in his eyes overflowed, and the sob was no longer silent. It had found its voice, and it would speak to what words could not.


	2. New York, 2021

**A/N: **So, I have a confession to make. I thought I had written all of this story and it just needed polishing, but I was wrong! I was working on the second (third?) chapter, and I felt that there was something missing in between the two chapters. Combine that with my love of extra angst and Steve and Natasha as brothers-in-arms, and this was born. I will say that I'm still a little unsure about it, and if, once I read through the story a few more times, I decide that it doesn't fit, I will probably relocate it to become the second chapter of my Steve & Natasha fic, _Philia kai Algos._ I also have a quick apology to make to anyone who followed this with the anticipation of any WinterWidow material. I wrote the description before I had completely fleshed out the story (shame on you, Mells!), and I fully intended to have a bit of them in it! But, alas, plans change. :(

Anyway! This note is much too long, so I'll get on with it. You can probably expect the third chapter this same time next week.  
Thanks!

* * *

The Compound was still. Almost all the lights, interior and exterior, were off. The only movement was the occasional rustle of wind from a window left carelessly open, and the only light was from the moon, casting pale ghost-like shadows on the walls.

Of all the huge complex, just three of the bedrooms were in use. The first was occupied by a former assassin whose pillow was wet with tears she would have denied crying. The second housed a small bed with rails on the sides, and a little girl that slept peacefully, illuminated by the dancing stars from her nightlight. The third was a sparse-looking room; it's only furniture a bed and dresser, and it's only decoration the scribbled drawings of a child, which had been hung all along the walls like masterpieces. The bed, however, was empty, the covers thrown so far back that they were almost on the floor, and the door was open.

0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0-0o0

Natasha rolled over again, wrenching the sheets from their place once more. It was no use. Most of the time she could get herself to sleep, she could use her old tactics and just shut off her brain, but not this time. Not tonight. She glanced at the clock, debating going to get a post-midnight drink. Or twelve. She really didn't know. Doubtless she would find Steve there too, especially with it being The Anniversary. They both knew Steve couldn't get drunk, but that didn't stop him from trying.

She was just about to push the covers off once and for all when she heard a muffled crash somewhere in the building. It sounded like breaking glass. Springing out of bed, she snagged a jacket and yanked her arms into the sleeves as she opened her bedroom door.

She could tell that the noise hadn't come from either of the other bedrooms, but she had to double check. Darting down her hallway and up another, she quickly and quietly opened Evelyn's door and stuck her head in long enough to be confident that the little girl was safe. Then, she ventured down to Steve's room, which worried her (but didn't surprise her) by being empty.

The crash still echoed slightly in the stone and metal halls, so she followed it quickly until she saw a lit room – the med station – and rounded into it, coming almost to a complete stop when she saw what had made the crash.

Steve was kneeling on the floor in front of a shattered supply cabinet, shards of glass all around him. His right fist and forearm were cut badly, and his left hand was in the hair of his bowed head, fisted so tightly that the knuckles were white. His face wasn't visible, but his back was heaving, and he payed no attention to the blood that was pooling around his lowered arm.

Her heart broke for him, and she had a difficult struggle to not start crying all over again. Careful not to slice her own bare feet on the broken glass, Natasha crept towards him until she could put a hand on his shoulder. His breathing shuddered, but he stayed silent, and so did she.

With some difficulty, she raised him to his feet and guided him to a desk so she could work on fixing him up. She returned to the broken cabinet to get supplies, but noticed that it didn't have what she needed. This cabinet was completely filled with injection bottles. There were the somewhat harmless things like numbing agents, but there were also the less harmless painkillers and, way in the back, Natasha saw five unlabeled bottles. These she knew contained special enhanced cocktails that Tony had made for Steve years ago. They were meant to be used only in case of emergency, as they were about ten times the strength of normal narcotics.

Moving to the other cabinet to get her supplies, she subtly cased the room, looking for signs of other similar drugs. Almost everything else seemed as it should be, but she did see a syringe and needle lying on the counter across from the broken cabinet. Thankfully, they were unused, but that only made her slightly less worried.

Natasha finally sat back down with her materials and started to patch Steve up. His arm was pretty bad. There were dozens of cuts, large and small, tracing from his fist all the way up to his elbow. Even though she knew he would heal quickly, she didn't want his skin to heal over pieces of glass, so she worked at cleaning and stitching the wound, and waited for Steve to speak. When he didn't, even after she had finished her stitches, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

"So," she began, pulling off her gloves, "do you want to tell me why you were about to shoot up with super soldier morphine?"

Steve took a deep breath and held it. Letting it out slowly, he opened his mouth to answer, but he didn't get the chance. Just then, Natasha's keen ears heard crying a little distance away, and she whipped her head to look at the door, even thought she already knew what it was. Evelyn was awake. She turned back to the man across from her, who looked like he was about to get up, alarm written on his face. She stood before he could get his feet under him.

"Stay here," she ordered. No way was he getting out of this conversation that easily. She didn't think he would move, but for good measure she took the bottles of super cocktail with her as she left the room.

It didn't take her long to locate the source of the crying, and in short order she found Evie plopped down in the middle of the living area with her fists in her eyes, wailing loudly. Natasha scooped the little girl up, earning a short scream from Evie, until she realized who was holding her. Then she promptly buried her face in Natasha's neck and resumed her crying. Amidst the blubbering and the not-quite-words that the three-year-old was speaking, Natasha could just barely make out "Daddy gone" and "scary". The little girl must have woken up and gone to her father's room, only to find it empty.

Natasha shushed her, rocking back and forth. "Daddy's here. It's ok." The little girl sniffed.

"Where?" she asked, lifting her head and looking around.

Natasha was about to say that he wasn't right there with them when Evie's face brightened and she reached away from Natasha.

"Daddy!" she cried, her terror already forgotten.

Natasha turned and saw that Steve was indeed there, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He put his arms out for his daughter, and Natasha handed her over willingly, though she watched his face with concern. Seeing that he was headed to the bedrooms, Natasha sprinted back to the med station and returned the bottles to their shattered cabinet, locking the door to the room and stashing the key. She would clean the room tomorrow.

By the time she got back to Steve and Evelyn, he was tucking her back into bed and giving her a kiss. Natasha lingered in the doorway, but Evie saw her and called out,

"Kiss!"

Smiling softly, Natasha crept into the room and obliged, kissing the little girl on the forehead. Evie smiled happily. Snuggling down into her bed, she yawned and blinked sleepily.

"Goodnight sweetheart," Natasha said, still hovering over the child's bed.

Evie's eyes slid closed and she murmured, "G'night Mommy."

Natasha tensed, and Steve nearly flinched in surprise. Natasha wasn't sure why. It was always a little bit uncomfortable, but this wasn't the first time Evie had mistaken the spy for her mother. Usually Natasha or Steve corrected the little girl gently, telling her something about her real mother so that she would hopefully remember next time, but she was already asleep, and an awkwardness hung in the air.

She tried to get a read on Steve as they slipped out of Evie's room, but he just seemed lost in intense thought. The door clicked shut softly behind them, and they stood facing each other in the hallway. Natasha decided she would try and break the tension.

"She just doesn't understand yet. She will."

Steve's eyes went from staring at the wall to staring at her, but they lost none of their intensity. "Maybe she does understand."

His tone made her lock eyes with him, and what she saw there put her on guard. "What are you talking about?" She asked. He leaned just the tiniest bit closer, and Natasha didn't back up, but she did free her arms from where they were crossed in front of her.

"For all intents and purposes, you _are_ her mother. Why shouldn't she call you that?"

Natasha couldn't believe her ears. "Because," she raised her voice a little too much, and glanced at Evie's door. Grabbing Steve by the arm, she tugged him back to the living area. "Because," she continued at a normal volume, "I'm not her mother! And she needs to know that."

"Why?" Steve's eyes were red-rimmed and stormy. "Why does she need to know that? It's been three years, Natasha. Three years! But right here!" he gestured vaguely, sweeping wildly from her to him and down the hall. "Right here we have a chance to start over!"

Natasha tried to cut in, "You don't mean that, Steve-" But he kept talking, his voice rising.

"Evie would never even have to know what she lost! We wouldn't have to keep living in this- this tomb!" He paused, and all she could do was gape. He looked at her with a painful longing in his eyes, and she could barely hear him when he whispered,

"Tasha..."

He hadn't touched her. Hadn't even moved an inch closer to her, but the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes... it may as well have been a kiss. She slapped him.

Indignation roiled inside her belly, but it took her a moment to be able to find the words for it.

"That's your solution? You want to forget them?" she asked, voice low and dangerous. She knew Steve wasn't exactly of sound mind right now, but she didn't really care. She was angry. "You want to just act like all those people never existed? Like T'Challa and Wanda and Sam! Like Peggy and-" her voice hitched, "and _Bucky_ were never even here? You just want to erase them all! Is that why you were about to shoot poison up your arm? Why I had to come and stop your _bullcrap_ self-destruction?"

"Oh, like you can sit and pass judgment!" The injured look he had given when she slapped him was gone. Now his eyes shot sparks. "Like I don't have to sit and watch you 'forget' at the bar any time you want to, knowing full well that I can't!"

"That's not the same thing and you know it!"

"Isn't it?"

"No!"

"Then what is it!"

For once, Natasha couldn't think of a reply. Instead she just stared at the man across from her. His face was a complex tapestry of rage and pain, and in his agony he was almost unrecognizable. In looking at him, Natasha realized that the same expressions colored her face. She was so tired of being angry, of being hurt. She let the emotions drain from her, and all that was left behind was weariness. She dropped her head.

"You're right. It is the same thing. But that doesn't make it ok for either of us."

Steve let the agony pass from his expression as well, and he sighed. "I don't want to act like they were never here, Nat. But they're not here now, and we don't have any way to fix that. I guess I just feel like moving on is the better option."

"I can't, Steve. I just can't." She looked back at him, searching his face. "Can you?"

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Steve let out a bitter laugh. "No. And I don't even know that I really want to." He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. "But it's just so _hard_."

Natasha lowered her defenses again and wrapped her arms around herself. "If we don't remember them… If we don't try and keep them alive somehow, then why are we still here?"

"I don't know, Nat. I honestly don't."

They stood in silence for a long time, each wanting to comfort the other, but knowing it was too dangerous. The emptiness inside of their hearts would open up and swallow them, and they would find themselves in a place that they didn't honestly want to be. It was such a strange thing. To stand across from a person you loved so dearly, but not be able to touch them, because you loved someone else even more.

At long last they were unable to do anything more, and they parted with only a few words, going back to their empty beds.


	3. New York, 2023

**A/N: **Here it is, the last chapter. I can't believe I've forgotten to do this until now, but thank you SO MUCH to the people who have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed this story. Nothing takes the wind out of a writer's sails faster than a no response, so I'm thankful that you all took the time. :) This chapter is happier than the last two, so I hope you like it.

* * *

His mind was tired, his body was beaten, and he didn't think his heart could take any more grief. They had won the war, but they had lost battles in the process, and even though Thanos was defeated once and for all, and they had done what they set out to do, the cost had been high. All that had kept Steve going was the knowledge that Natasha would have wanted him to, but that didn't make it easier.

So now, despite all the impatience he had felt in the hours after the battle, and all the visions he had dreamed of this moment, Steve was afraid to move. He was afraid that he would wake up in his cold lonely bed like he had so many times before. It had been so long, and there had been so little hope, how could this be anything but some trick of his mind? But he knew it wasn't. In his dreams, he ran toward Peggy. She smiled and laughed as he swept her off the ground and buried his face in her hair. The woman he saw through the door wasn't laughing or smiling, she looked heart-broken and confused.

Taking a deep breath, Steve knelt down and met the eyes of the little girl holding his hand.

"Evie, can you stay here for a minute? Daddy has to go talk to someone."

The child nodded quickly, her eyes lighting up with excitement when she asked, "Are you going to talk to Mommy?"

Steve's throat tightened, "Yeah sweetheart, I'm going to talk to Mommy. You can come see her in just a little bit. Would you like that?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she cried, bouncing on her toes. He gave her a kiss and smiled, but felt anxiety brewing in his stomach. He stood up, his smile becoming uncertain, and he wished for the thousandth time that hour that Natasha were there with him. She would have rolled her eyes and shoved him through the door, reassuring him by telling him how ridiculous he was being.

But she wasn't there, so he had to steel himself, set Evie on a bench and make sure she would wait, and enter the room all on his own power. It was hard, but he did it.

Just the moment before Peggy turned, he had the briefest of hesitations. He wasn't even sure why, but he paused. Maybe he was worried about all the time that had passed, or maybe he was still afraid that it was a dream, but regardless of what it was, it vanished when her eyes met his.

In three quick strides his arms were around her waist and her face was buried in his neck. He held her tight and breathed in her scent, suddenly overwhelmed by the shear volume of _her_ invading his senses. Unable to contain it any more, Steve started sobbing, and that made Peggy cry, though she wasn't exactly sure why. His knees nearly gave out but he managed to sink into a chair without collapsing, Peggy still clutched in his arms.

"Steve," she finally managed, "What happened? I mean, I know it's been five years and half the universe died and we all just got brought back, but what-" she was silenced by a kiss. If she hadn't already known how long she had been gone, that kiss would have told her right down to the second. In it she felt every miserable day and lonely night, all the highs and lows of the five years, three months, eighteen days, and seven hours that Steve had been without her. When they finally parted and reminded themselves how to breathe, she had only one question left.

"The baby, Steve. What happened to the baby?"

No one had been able to tell her what happened to the child she had been carrying, and as she tried to read Steve's eyes, they were just as useless to her. They were so full of every emotion that she couldn't make one out from the other. There was grief and joy, love and sorrow, excitement and apprehension. He stayed silent for so long that Peggy finally thought she understood.

"Oh, Steve!" tears began to form. "Did she- Was she-?"

"She's fine!" he answered quickly, realizing what his pause had implied. He smoothed a hand over her hair and sniffed. "She's fine, and she's perfect," he gave a wet chuckle, "and she's really ready to meet you. Do you want to meet her?"

"Oh _yes_," Peggy breathed. Steve smiled, tears still misting his eyes, and gave her one more quick kiss. Peggy slid off of his lap and got her own chair while he crossed to the door again and exited. She got a brief few moments to think about his face and the changes in it. He was older, she could tell, his worry lines had deepened and his eyes had more history in them. There was another change too; he had shaved his beard. She smiled. That was alright with her. She had always liked him better clean-shaven anyway.

Just then, Steve came back to the door. Through the window she saw him smile at her and then down at something else. The door opened and Peggy caught her breath as something small and brown-headed and blue-eyed entered the room.

All the hours she had waited for Steve, she hadn't really allowed herself to think of the possibility of meeting her daughter. In the moments when she had, there had only been a vague picture in her mind of a little tow-headed baby. This girl looked to be about five years old. Not even a toddler! Of course, it made sense, but still! She wasn't at all what Peggy had imagined.

But Peggy didn't have long to process her surprise, because no sooner had the little girl spotted her than she dropped Steve's hand and, much to the amazement of her parents, ran boldly up to the stranger in the room. She stopped right in front of Peggy and fixed her with an innocent stare. The woman and her daughter studied each other for a few moments, and Steve opened his mouth to introduce them, but Evie beat him to it.

"Are you my mommy?"

Peggy's found she couldn't speak just yet, so she nodded until she could choke out, "Yes."

The little girl's face split into a smile and, without any hesitation, she climbed up into her mother's lap and twined little arms around the woman's neck. "Daddy said you came back! I'm glad you're here."

Both Steve and Peggy were shell-shocked. Was this how meeting a parent for the first time was supposed to go? As Evie prattled on, seemingly unaware of how unusual the situation was, Steve and Peggy mutually and silently decided to just go along with it. They were here, they were whole, and that was what mattered.

Steve sat down by Peggy and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, simply marveling at the fact that she was there. Evie was clearly very much at home already, and crawled from Peggy's lap to Steve's and back again, talking animatedly the whole time. Peggy tried to stifle her tears, but they were the good kind, so she let a few slip out.

It wasn't a perfect scenario, there had been too much despair and too much death for it to be that. Steve knew there would still be many adjustments and growing pains, and that this hadn't been the last catastrophe they would face, but things were so much infinitely brighter than they had been.

* * *

**A/N: **See! I brought it home! I can't really bear to leave something sad without a resolution.

Speaking of something sad... Yes, I did decide to keep Natasha's sacrifice in my AU. I did play with the idea of her not being the one to jump, but, as heart-breaking as it was, her death was such an important part of her journey. From the very beginning, I think her struggle has been about finding something to believe in, and she finally found that in the people she loved. She believed in them and what they were doing so whole-heartedly that she was willing to give her life for it, and there's something beautiful about that. That being said, I do maintain the headcanon that she could have been saved once the soul stone was returned, and in this AU, I think Bucky would have volunteered to put the stones back instead of Steve. And guess who he would have brought back! Yep. WinterWidow has my heart. Even if I can never seem to actually write about them...


End file.
